“Open the first one,” I said, leaning over his shoulder.

It was a certified geological survey dated six years ago, stamped by the state water commission.

I scanned the technical diagrams, my training in map reading and terrain analysis making the blue and green lines instantly clear.

“It’s a deep-aquifer map,” I said, pointing to the shaded reservoir beneath our family’s mountain parcels. “The water table under the north and south pasture is massive.”

“It’s more than massive,” Voss said, his eyes scanning the attached text. “It’s a designated emergency reserve for the three surrounding counties.”

He opened the second document.

It was a draft lease agreement between my father and the state water conservation board.

The figures were laid out in clear, black-and-white print.

The state was offering a thirty-year lease with an annual payout that made my chest tighten.

“This is worth millions,” Voss whispered, his voice shaking slightly. “But look at the contingency clause.”

I leaned closer, reading the small print.

*The lease is contingent upon the property remaining intact as a single, undivided parcel under the original trust management.*